


Rising Darkness

by DeathBelle



Series: In A Galaxy Far, Far Away... [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Jedi!Reon, Jedi!Ushijima, No spoilers for any Star Wars movies, Padawan!Goshiki, Pilot!Yamagata, Star Wars!au, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-01 03:58:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle
Summary: All Jedi knew of the Sith. They were blood and shadows, darkness and death.Ushijima Wakatoshi, a proud Knight of the Jedi Order, had hoped they would not rise during his lifetime.It seems that hope was in vain.The Sith are rising, and Ushijima finds himself on the front lines of a new war. A massacre on Roxuli leads to his first contact with the Sith, but he is certain it won't be the last. Darkness is rising, and Ushijima can only hope the Jedi are prepared to face it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This series will be broken into two parts. The first will be from a Jedi perspective, the second from the Sith. The second half will have a main pairing, but that won't be revealed until the conclusion of the first part. Updates will be posted weekly.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Ushijima Wakatoshi had heard tales of the Sith Order ever since he began his training. The Sith had been established as a dark balance to the Jedi, one forged of shadows and hatred and blood. They sought control through the blackest of means, and they recognized no limits in their pursuit of power. They would use anyone, conquer anyone, and kill anyone, indiscriminately. Their footholds in the galaxy had been torn away from them years ago, before Ushijima’s grandparents had been born. The Sith hadn’t been a plague in his lifetime. His only knowledge of them was passed along through his masters, cautionary tales of the dangers of the dark side.

Ushijima had always listened. He’d catalogued the stories away for future use, while hoping that he would never have any need of them. 

Unfortunately, that information was now crucial.

A few years before, dark rumors had begun flitting from planet to planet, scattered accounts of a Sith Lord rising to power. The Jedi Order had wished to believe it was a hoax, but they could not deny the sinister stirring of the Force. Ushijima felt it himself, an occasional twist deep in his gut that he equated to mental nausea. 

The Jedi had known the Sith were rising once more. They just hadn’t expected the speed of their ascension, nor the boldness of their attacks.

Ushijima stepped over a heap of shattered stone and stared out at the ruins of the temple. It had been all but decimated. The walls still stood, but they were charred black. Everything within had been ripped to shreds, including the disciples who had been present for their daily rituals.

He knelt beside the nearest body, studying it with his eyes and with his mind. The finishing blow had punched through the chest. There was a distinct lack of blood, and the clothing around the wound was singed. 

It could have been a well-placed shot from a blaster. It was feasible.

Still, Ushijima felt that wasn’t the case.

He felt a presence looming behind him, just before he heard the telltale hum of an activated lightsaber.

Ushijima threw himself to the side on instinct. He rolled once on the dusty floor and sprang to his feet, already reaching for the weapon at his side. A red blade cut through the space he’d occupied a split second before, the arch of the blade heralded by a malicious hum. The wielder twirled the saber in his grip, and though he wore a mask, Ushijima felt the provocative grin beneath.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi,” said the stranger, his voice muffled into a chilling taunt. He was a tall shadow, radiating the same malevolence as his blade. “A Knight of the Jedi Order. This isn’t surprising.”

He didn’t approach. Ushijima held his position as well, the grip of his lightsaber familiar against his calloused palm. The blue blade burst to life, humming in a much more pleasant manner than the fierce red weapon of his opponent.

Ushijima had never seen a red blade in practice. The Jedi had some variations in color, but as a rule did not use red. Red crystals were created by a heart of malice and venom. 

Red crystals were created by _Sith_.

The thought of that, the realization of what he faced, flooded Ushijima with cold dread. The Order had spoken of the changing energy in the Force, about the darkness creeping in. Despite that, they hadn’t wished to believe it, and neither had Ushijima. 

There was no denying it now. Ushijima had never met a Sith lord, but he was confident that the man in front of him was exactly that.

“You arrived faster than expected,” said the Sith. He twirled his saber again, the blade cutting through the air in a small, threatening circle. “We’re a long way from Coruscant.”

“It is not that far,” said Ushijima. He adjusted his stance, shifting slightly to the side, his weapon tight in his grip. He could envision no scenario that would end peacefully. This would end in a fight, and he intended to be victorious. “I was already nearby.”

“Of course you were,” said the Sith. He took a step, and Ushijima tensed, but he approached no further. He seemed to be sizing Ushijima up, though the direction of his stare was obscured by the mask. “You’re always around at the opportune time, aren’t you, Wakatoshi?”

A chill crept down Ushijima’s spine at the sound of his name on the Sith’s tongue. It had the air of familiarity, as if the man had spoken it before. “How do you know me?”

The Sith cackled. It cracked like lightning, high-pitched and borderline manic. “You offend me,” he said, the words bubbling with glee. “I’m not worthy of the great Ushijima Wakatoshi’s memory.”

He said it as if they’d met in the past, as if Ushijima should have known exactly who he was. This man was mistaken. Ushijima had never fraternized with anyone who would willingly associate with the Sith, with the Dark Side. 

“Take off your mask,” said Ushijima, “and perhaps I will recall.”

The man hummed. He tapped a finger against the edge of his mask, as if he was pondering the suggestion. No part of him was visible. He was clad in black from head to toe, from the hood of his sweeping robes to the gloves that wrapped beneath his sleeves to the mask that concealed his face. “I think not.” He dropped his hand and twirled his lightsaber once more. “As much as I’d like to stick around, my ship is waiting. Hold that thought. We’ll continue this conversation at a later time. This won’t be the last time we meet, Wakatoshi.”

“If you think I will let you walk away,” said Ushijima, “then you are mistaken. The destruction you have caused here is unforgivable. I will take you before the Jedi Order, and you will answer for your crimes.”

Again, he felt the grin beneath the mask, wide and taunting.

“Oh,” said the Sith, “I think not.”

He spun, and Ushijima readied himself to give chase, but the man didn’t flee. 

The Sith leaped back and swung his blade at the unguarded throat of the boy who’d crept inside only a moment before, the boy whose wide eyes found Ushijima with a flicker of panic.

Ushijima took a step, but the red blade inched nearer to his Padawan’s throat.

“Now, now,” said the Sith. His long, gloved fingers curled around the boy’s shoulder. He was smug; Ushijima felt that radiating off of him in waves. “You can attack if you’d like, but your disciple here will be dead before you touch me.”

“He has no part in this,” said Ushijima. He lowered his light saber, but didn’t disengage the blade. The hum of it was in his ears, and though it was typically a reassurance, it did nothing to lessen his dread. “Release him. Your fight is with me.”

“My fight is with the Jedi,” said the Sith. “You’re training this boy in the way of the Jedi, aren’t you? Your young, faithful Padawan. What’s your name, boy?”

“Do not answer him,” said Ushijima.

Ushijima felt that maddening grin again, as plainly as if it was in clear view. The Sith threaded his fingers through the boy’s hair and yanked his head back, the saber so close that he must have felt the heat against his vulnerable throat. 

“You’ll tell me,” said the Sith, his grip tightening until the boy winced, “or I’ll kill you. And while you’re cooling on the ground, I’ll kill your mentor, too.”

The boy licked his lips, his eyes still on Ushijima. There was an unspoken apology there, sprinkled with panic. “Goshiki. Goshiki Tsutomu. You can kill me, but you don’t stand a chance against Master Ushijima. He’ll destroy you.”

The Sith laughed, that same cackle of lightning and spite.

“Is that so?” he said, tightening his hold on Goshiki’s hair. The boy’s braid dangled over his shoulder, swaying as the Sith tugged. “You have a lot of faith in him. I’m not surprised. I’ve heard great things about Ushijima Wakatoshi. It seems he’s on the path to becoming the next Grand Master of the Jedi.”

“I have no such aspirations,” said Ushijima. He eyed the weapon and the Sith’s stance, seeking any sign of weakness, any openings. He hadn’t even seen the Sith fight, and already he knew he was lethally capable. It was intuition, and a Jedi’s intuition was rarely wrong. “I only live to serve the Jedi Order.”

“So noble,” said the Sith. “So nauseating.”

Goshiki fidgeted, then went rigid as the burning blade brushed his skin. His fists were tight at his sides, his right hand only a short reach away from his own light saber, clipped at his belt. He should have entered the temple with his weapon in-hand. He should have stayed back further and waited for Ushijima’s cue. He should have done many things, but now the only thing Ushijima wanted of him was to remain alive. 

“Listen to me, Ushijima Wakatoshi,” said the Sith. He lowered the saber, just slightly. “I am going to release your Padawan, unharmed, and I am going to leave this temple. You will not try to stop me. Someday you and I will fight, but today is not that day. Do we have a deal?”

Ushijima studied him, seeking deceit and finding none. 

If he agreed, if the Sith got far enough from Goshiki, then Ushijima could step in and stop him from leaving. His reign of terror could end here, before he committed more slaughter.

“That won’t work,” said the Sith. He sounded amused, as if he could see straight into Ushijima’s thoughts. “If you come after me, I’ll swoop right back in and cut off Tsutomu’s pretty little head.” 

He gave Goshiki’s hair another hard pull. The boy’s eyes were watering, but his stare was still on Ushijima, unwavering. He was probably waiting for direction, for Ushijima to give him some sort of signal. “You might be strong, Wakatoshi, but I’m willing to bet I’m faster than you. Maybe I’m wrong, but are you willing to take that chance?”

It wasn’t an idle threat. He oozed confidence. If he was unable to follow through with the warning, it wouldn’t be for lack of personal assurance. 

Still, Ushijima might get the better of him. He was not one to boast, but among his peers, he was the most skilled and the most accomplished. If anyone could cut down this Sith Lord, it was him. He was qualified, and as a Jedi, it was his duty.

Yet, the destruction that had been wrought at the temple was no child’s play. It would have taken great talent and determination to cause such havoc. 

Ushijima may have been stronger, but if he was not, Goshiki would be the one who paid for his lapse of judgment. He wanted to strike down the Sith, but he did not think he could bear doing so at the expense of his Padawan’s life.

The Sith would have taken that life with no hesitation. Ushijima was certain of that.

“Okay,” he said. Conflict and uncertainty warred in his chest. He felt he was making a mistake, but could not risk the alternative. “Go. I will not follow.”

The Sith was satisfied. He let his weapon fall away from Goshiki’s throat, the blade humming idly at his side.

He didn’t pause to consider if Ushijima was lying.

As a rule, the Jedi did not lie.

“We’ll see each other again,” said the Sith, as he backed toward the exit. The end of his blade cut lazy shapes into the air. “Maybe next time we can talk longer. Keep yourself alive until then, Wakatoshi. I would be disappointed if anyone else killed you. I intend to do that myself.”

He turned, and Ushijima said, “Who are you?”

He had expected no response, but the Sith stopped. He tilted his head to one side, not quite looking over his shoulder, but still Ushijima felt he was being studied. 

“I am many things,” said the Sith, “and many people. To you, for now, I am Darth Masakh. Remember me well.”

He swept out of the temple ruins, his cloak the last part of him to leave Ushijima’s sight.

There was only a brief second of stillness, a taste of calm, before Goshiki recovered.

“Go after him!” He pressed one hand against his throat, the other moving to the hilt of his lightsaber. “You can catch him, Master Ushijima. It doesn’t matter if he comes back for me. You’re better than him. I’m not afraid.”

“No, Tsutomu,” he said. “Now is not the time.”

“But Master-”

“Quiet,” said Ushijima, his tone leaving no room for argument. He disengaged his lightsaber, but kept it in-hand. The Jedi didn’t lie, but the Sith were stained through and through. Deceit was a native language for them. He could not trust that the man would not circle back for an ambush.

Ushijima closed his eyes and pushed his consciousness beyond the crumbling mess of the temple, beyond the corpses that littered the ruins, beyond the scorched grass outside the walls. He wielded the Force like a sonar, sending his thoughts out in pulses, waiting for something familiar to ricochet back.

A man approached from the east, the same direction from which Ushijima had arrived. He was familiar, and not the one Ushijima sought, so he reached in the opposite direction.

It took a moment, but he found him. Though he’d never felt such concentrated power from the dark side, it was easily identifiable. It felt as if he was dipping his consciousness into a black abyss, one with no floor or ceiling, one with no walls and no exit. It was dark and cold and dangerous, yet somehow alluring.

Ushijima stamped out that thought before it could grow. He had no interest in the dark side. He had been trained as a Jedi, and he would die as a Jedi.

He backed off a bit, but kept a lock on the Sith Lord as the distance between them grew. Darth Masakh was pleased. Ushijima felt that down to his core, the gratification unmistakable. The Sith had torn down a sacred temple, murdered its disciples in cold blood, and threatened Goshiki’s life, yet he was perfectly pleased.

Ushijima broke the connection before he could feel anything more. The small amount that he’d gathered was making him angry, and anger was dangerous. 

He fought to snuff it out as the man he’d sensed outside the temple ducked through the doorway, studying the wreckage solemnly.

“We were too late,” he said. He looked down at a body near his feet, brow furrowed. “Something dark happened here. The Force in this place is stained black.”

“Master Oohira,” gasped Goshiki, still clutching at his throat. Urgency weakened his voice, made him breathless. “There was a Sith Lord! He almost killed me, he-”

“Tsutomu.” Ushijima said it with an edge that brought the boy to immediate silence.

Reon looked between the two of them, his frown etching deep lines across his forehead. “A Sith Lord.” His mouth curled unpleasantly around the title. “There are no more Sith. There haven’t been for centuries.” Even as he denied it, he took in the scene again. Ushijima felt Reon reaching out, probing the temple with the Force, seeking evidence.

Ushijima wanted to allow him to search, perhaps even to disprove the sudden appearance of the SIth. This was not what they had expected to find when they received the distress call from Roxuli. Ushijima had thought it was an isolated incident, perhaps the result of some outlaws or bandits who would have to be captured and brought to justice.

He had not expected to find something worse, something so sinister that it turned his blood to ice. 

“It appears the SIth have returned,” said Ushijima. The words tasted of shadow and smoke. “As they will always do. History is a cycle. The past will always come back around, in one way or another.”

A thread of Force tugged in Ushijima’s mind, alerting him to movement. Two others approached the temple, still a fair distance away. One of them was familiar. The other felt _off_.

Reon shook his head. He scanned the wreckage of the temple, dark eyes reflecting sorrow. He accepted Ushijima’s statement without argument, and while his confidence was appreciated, Ushijima wished he would have resisted the news. Perhaps he could have even convinced Ushijima that he was mistaken. “I had hoped,” said Reon, “that it wouldn’t be in our lifetime.”

Ushijima agreed. He wanted no part in this. Yet, if it was to happen, he would not back down from the threat. He was Jedi, and it was a Jedi’s duty to stand firm against the Dark Side. 

“This only means that the Force believes us strong enough to stop them,” said Ushijima, despite the hollow feeling in his bones. “It is an honor.”

Goshiki stood a little taller and finally let his hand fall away from his throat. Beneath it was a small dark line, less than an inch in length, where the saber had grazed him. 

It was a minor injury, considering he could have been killed. Goshiki was a bright boy, eager to learn and eager to please, and his strength in the Force was admirable. All of that could have been snuffed out in a fleeting second, just like the lives of the corpses littering the temple.

Like Reon, Ushijima had never thought he would witness the rise of the Sith. 

But if it was happening, he intended to put a stop to it.

“Ushijima!” 

The voice was just outside the temple walls, breathless and frantic.

“We’re inside,” said Reon, answering for him. 

Yamagata appeared in the doorway, eyes bright and face flushed. As Ushijima had already known, he wasn’t alone.

“I caught this guy sneaking around outside our ship,” he said. He shoved the man over the threshold and followed after him. His boots tracked smeared footprints through the ash. He paused, his stream of conversation broken as he took in the slaughter within the temple walls. Dark eyes tracked over the bodies, over the grisly wounds scorched into dead flesh. He swallowed and dragged his attention to Ushijima, focusing on him alone. “I think he was trying to get onboard. To sabotage us, maybe.”

The stranger scuffed to a stop, his jaw set. Yamagata pushed him forward again, and he lost his balance. He went to his knees on the charred stone floor, his bound hands barely stopping him from falling face-first. There was a body only an arm’s-length away from him. The man either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Ushijima stalked closer to study the stranger, suspicion brewing like a coming storm.

His clothing was nondescript, worn through at the knees and elbows, the soles of his boots beginning to peel away. At first glance he appeared to be a common street dweller, one with no stable roof and no guaranteed meals. His clothes were dirty and grime had gathered beneath his fingernails. All of that was trivial, but his hair was what caught Ushijima’s attention. It was pale, platinum, but the ends were dark, as if they’d been charred like the ruined temple. 

Something sparked in Ushijima’s memory, but it didn’t kindle into recognition until the man raised his head. His eyes were granite, sharper than they’d been years before, and the unshaven scruff of his face made him look like a different person.

Still, Ushijima knew him.

“Semi Eita,” he said, the name rusty from disuse.

Semi’s expression flickered, his mouth pulling tight. “Ushijima.” His voice was low and rough. 

“Semi?” repeated Reon. He circled around to stand beside Ushijima, staring down at the man in wonder. “Damn. It really is.”

Goshiki was nearly vibrating in his struggle to keep quiet. Ushijima had been trying to teach him the value of observation as opposed to constant questioning. The boy was making progress.

“Who’s Semi?” said Yamagata, confused.

Goshiki bounced on the balls of his feet, clearly relieved that the question had been asked for him.

Considering he had just been staring into the face of death, he’d recovered remarkably quickly.

“He was in our training class,” said Reon, “when we were kids. He was supposed to become a Jedi.”

Semi’s eyes slid to him and then he looked away, staring blankly at the blackened wall.

“Oh,” said Yamagata. He took a step back and studied Semi with a new sense of appreciation.

Though highly competent in his area of expertise, Yamagata had not been recruited to join the ranks of the Jedi Knights when he was a child, as Ushijima and Reon had been. He had met them only a few years ago, when they had enlisted his services for a quick transport to Geonosis. 

Yamagata was the best pilot Ushijima had ever flown with, and he’d kept him close ever since. 

“What’s he doing here, then?” asked Yamagata, posing the question on everyone’s minds. “Why isn’t he a Jedi like you guys?”

Ushijima realized he had no answer. He remembered training with Semi in his youth. He remembered standing alongside him to recite the Jedi mantra, and having him as a sparring partner when they practiced with wooden sticks, too young to be given real light sabers.

Those memories were all Ushijima had of Semi Eita. He didn’t know what had become of him afterward. He only knew he had never seen him again. There had been so many other children in his class that he hadn’t given it a second thought. 

“I don’t know,” said Ushijima after a heavy pause. 

Semi spared a glance up at him before decidedly staring at the ground. “I was trying to sneak onto your ship,” he said. The admission was low and rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in a while. “I got stranded here weeks ago and haven’t been able to find a way off this planet. I thought I could hide out until you arrived somewhere more civilized and sneak off without being noticed.” His lip curled and he added, “If I’d known it was a Jedi ship I wouldn’t have bothered.”

Ushijima studied him, silently. He shared a look with Reon, who gave a small nod.

“Hayato, free him.”

Yamagata raised a brow, but didn’t argue. He knelt at Semi’s side and unlatched the cuffs, hooking them to his belt as he stood. Semi rubbed at his wrists, peering up at them with a touch of suspicion.

“We are going back to Coruscant,” said Ushijima. “You may accompany us, or you may stay here. It is your decision.”

Semi blinked and looked between them, as if waiting for the punchline of the joke. When he realized they were serious, he said, “You’re not going to turn me in for trying to trespass on your ship?”

“ _Trying_ is the key word there,” said Yamagata. “You didn’t even make it on board.”

“You did nothing to wrong us,” said Ushijima. “If you wish to come along, then it will be now. We must leave immediately. We have much to tell the Council.”

He stepped around Semi, still on the ground, and headed for the sagging temple door. The others followed, Goshiki a bit delayed.

Before Ushijima stepped over the threshold, Semi said, “I saw what happened here. The massacre.”

Ushijima came to a halt, dust and ash puffing around his boots. 

“They were Sith,” said Semi, his voice low and his head down. He gripped his knees tightly, fingers pale. “I’ve heard the people here speak of them. Darth Masakh was the one who did this, but there’s another. He’s called Darth Kal. He’s the apprentice, but he’s just as terrifying as the master.”

Ushijima turned, slowly. “What else have you heard?”

“Not much. Just the occasional murmur. I barely speak the language here. I’ve only caught pieces.”

Pieces were more than they currently had. The only knowledge Ushijima had gotten from the Sith had been dark threats and menacing laughter. They needed more information, and if Semi Eita was the only way to acquire it, then Ushijima would do what he must.

“Come with us,” he said, “and tell the Council what you know. We need to know everything, no matter how small.”

“They won’t believe any of it,” said Semi. He pushed a hand through his matted hair. “Not coming from someone like me.”

“Maybe they won’t, but I will.” Ushijima stepped closer and offered a hand. “Come to Coruscant. Help us now, before the Sith grow too strong.”

Semi considered him, brows tucked together, lip caught between his teeth. A minute trickled away, then two, and Ushijima felt certain he would decline. 

Finally Semi stirred. He reached out to let Ushijima pull him to his feet. “Okay,” he said, dusting himself off. He still didn’t look directly at him. He either wouldn’t or couldn’t. Regardless, there was a decisive weight in Semi’s voice as he said, “I’ll help you.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Council took the news of the Sith’s rising as badly as expected.

There wasn’t an outcry. It may have been more bearable if there was.

Ushijima stood in the direct center of the Council room, bathed in silence. Reon and Goshiki were against the back wall. Yamagata and Semi, lacking the title of Jedi, hadn’t been allowed to accompany them.

“This is serious news, Ushijima,” said the Grand Master. He sat with his legs crossed beneath him, hooded eyes focused. “We have heard nothing of the Sith for decades.”

“I know, Grand Master.”

“Are you sure of what you saw?”

Ushijima inclined his head. “I am certain. The one who burned the temple was a Sith Lord. I saw him. I fought him. He called himself Darth Masakh.”

A murmur passed among the Council members. It wasn’t verbal, but Ushijima heard it all the same, a buzz in the back of his mind. All eyes were on him. He felt the stares like a physical weight, weighing down his limbs. 

“If anyone else brought this story to us,” said the Grand Master, “I would not believe them. You, however… We will look into this matter immediately. I do not doubt your sincerity, Ushijima, but I do hope you are mistaken.”

“I wish I was, also,” said Ushijima. “Unfortunately, I am not. I have brought along another witness, if the Council would like to speak to him.”

Semi had been told that he may have to go before the Council. He had been displeased by the possibility, but he hadn’t refused.

“That will not be necessary. Go now. Tell no one of this, not yet.”

Ushijima bowed. “Yes, Grand Master.”

He turned to leave, and Reon and Goshiki preceded him out the door. When it slid shut behind them, Ushijima expelled a breath, a small measure of his tension bleeding away.

“They will find the truth,” he said. He grazed a hand over the hilt of his light saber, clipped to his belt. “A war is coming. I saw it today, and I feel it in the Force. Something is brewing. Something dangerous.”

Reon and Goshiki exchanged a look.

“We must speak more with Semi,” said Ushijima. He stepped past them and strode down the corridor, his robe fluttering behind him. “We need everything he knows about the Sith.”

“What’s going to happen, Master Ushijima?” asked Goshiki, skipping to match his stride.

“The Council will confirm the existence of the Sith, but will be unable to act against them,” said Ushijima. “They will be in hiding because they are outnumbered. For now, at least. They will strike again, and soon. We must be prepared.”

  
  
  
  
They located Yamagata in the canteen. There was a plate of food in front of him, but he wasn’t eating. His attention was reserved for Semi, who was tearing into his meal with an eagerness that suggested he hadn’t eaten properly for a week.

Ushijima stopped at the end of the table, and Semi paused with his mouth full of food to look up at him.

“Bring your dinner with you,” said Ushijima. “We’re going up to my quarters to talk. Hayato, tell no one what we saw today. Treat the information with the utmost secrecy.”

Yamagata gave him a small salute. Semi swallowed, wiped his mouth on his ragged sleeve, and said, “Are you taking me in front of the Council?”

“No,” said Ushijima. “They do not wish to speak with you.”

Semi hesitated. He glanced across the table at Yamagata, who’d finally started on his food. Semi was reluctant as he gathered his plate and stood. “Okay.”

Ushijima gestured toward the far door. “This way. Goshiki, join Hayato for dinner. I will speak with you in the morning.”

His back was turned, but even so, he felt the wave of disappointment roll off of his Padawan. Goshiki thrived on action. He liked to be in the middle of things, to contribute to the best of his ability.

It was a testament to his level of improvement that he only said, “Yes, Master Ushijima.” 

Only a year before, he would have argued. Ushijima was proud.

He led the way up to his quarters, where he was housed alongside the other Jedi Knights. A retinal scan granted access, and he waved Semi inside before following, Reon only a few steps behind. Ushijima had intended to allow Semi to finish his meal, but now it seemed he had lost his ravenous appetite. He put his plate aside and sat in the chair that Ushijima indicated, crossing his arms like he was trying to shield himself.

“Tell us everything you know,” said Ushijima, standing over him, “about Darth Masakh and his apprentice.”

Semi shrank beneath the attention, eyes skating to the side. 

Reon dropped a hand on Ushijima’s shoulder. “Let’s give him some space,” he said, coaxing him a step back. “He’s been through a lot.”

Ushijima frowned, but didn’t argue as Reon dragged chairs over for both of them. When they were seated, Ushijima again addressed Semi. “Everything you know.”

Semi blew out a breath through his nose and stared past them, at the window that overlooked the city. The sky was dark, but the lights that stretched to the visible horizon were always there. 

“I never thought I’d be back here,” said Semi quietly. “I never _wanted_ to be back here.” He sighed, and stared down at the floor. “I told you I don’t know much. I know about Masakh and Kal. I know they’re Sith. I know they’ve raised some sort of army, and they’ve been buying weapons from different sources. They have a Star Destroyer out there somewhere, but I didn’t see it. Darth Masakh flew to the temple on a small craft, alone, and left the same way. I guess Darth Kal was waiting for him on their main ship.”

“How many others know about this?” asked Ushijima.

Semi shrugged. He reached out to poke at his food, but seemed to think better of it and dropped his hand again. “There’s no way to know. Most of it was spread around like rumors. Some believed it, and some didn’t. I wasn’t sure myself until I saw Darth Masakh firsthand. I wasn’t close enough to see inside the temple, when he did the killing, but…” he trailed off, his arms tightening across his torso. “I… I _felt_ it. The death. The Force hasn’t left me completely, not even after all these years.”

“What happened?” asked Reon. “Back when we were in training. Where did you go?”

Ushijima felt that was irrelevant in the face of the current subject, but he didn’t protest.

“Doesn’t matter where I went,” said Semi. Bitterness dripped into his voice like acid. “All that matters is that I left. That’s what they wanted. As long as I wasn’t their problem anymore, they didn’t care what became of me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Semi sighed, and seemed to collapse into himself. “When the first phase of our training ended, when we were still kids, we did our final tests and waited to be chosen as Padawans.” He glanced at Ushijima, then Reon, and looked back at the floor. “Of course Ushijima was chosen by the Grand Master. He was the top of the class. It was unsurprising. I assume you were selected by a skilled Jedi Knight too, Oohira.” He ran a hand through his knotted hair. “I wasn’t good enough. No one wanted me as their apprentice. They tried to send me to the Service Corps, and I refused. I left the Order instead and went my own way.”

Ushijima was surprised. From what he recalled, Semi had never lacked the skills that were most valued by the Jedi Order. Ushijima had always been especially talented in the Force, but he had always recognized the merit of others, as well. In his young memories, Semi had never presented any problems. He’d always performed acceptably.

Maybe Ushijima had been more self-centered than he’d thought, if he’d entirely failed to notice Semi’s lack of ability.

“Which is why,” said Semi after a brief silence, “I’m so uncomfortable here. I came back to help you, although I feel I haven’t succeeded. For that I apologize, but I did warn you that my information was limited.”

“We appreciate what you’ve given us,” said Reon. “It’s very helpful. If it wasn’t for you, we would have nothing.”

“I just hope you can do something,” said Semi. “I have no great love for the Jedi, but the Sith are _wrong_. Even I can feel that.”

“We’ll do all that we can,” said Reon. “We won’t let them rise to power.”

“We will do what we can,” agreed Ushijima, “but you must be willing to do your part, as well.”

Semi blinked up at him. “What?”

“You gave up on the Jedi Order,” said Ushijima, “but you can still fight for the Light Side. Whatever skills you have can be put to use. Everyone is valuable in their own way.”

“I gave up on them,” repeated Semi, a scowl descending onto his brow. “Did you hear anything I said? They gave up on me.”

“The Service Corps is a noble pursuit,” said Ushijima. “If the Order thought you would do best there, you should have gone.”

Semi’s eyes narrowed. “Would you have gone, Ushijima? If they’d said you weren’t good enough to be a Jedi. Would you have tucked your tail between your legs and dragged off to the Service Corps with the other rejects?”

“If that was the best way that I could serve the Order,” said Ushijima, “then yes.”

His honesty was undeniable, and Semi’s expression went blank. “I didn’t come here to fight for the Jedi.”

“Then don’t fight for them,” said Ushijima. “Fight for the Republic. Fight for freedom.”

Semi laughed. It was more bitterness than humor. “You’re not going to win me over this way. I have no loyalty to the Republic. It’s done nothing for me.”

“What do you plan to do, then?” asked Reon, before Ushijima could press further.

Semi went quiet, shifting beneath their stares. 

“You are welcome to stay here,” said Reon, “until you figure it out. Some of the rooms on the Padawans’ floor are vacant. You can sleep there for a few nights, if you’d like. Think about what you want. If it’s a way out of this city, we can find someone to take you elsewhere. If it’s a purpose, we may be able to help you find that, too.”

“I don’t know what it’s like to live with purpose,” mumbled Semi. “I’ll accept a place to sleep, if only for a night or two. I could make due on my own, but… it would be nice to feel safe for once.”

Reon gave Ushijima a steady look. “That can be arranged.”

Ushijima considered arguing. He personally felt that someone with such a negative attitude toward the Jedi – and toward the Republic in general – should not be allowed to reside beneath the roof of the Jedi Temple. They knew nothing of Semi, except that he’d been denied acceptance into the Jedi Order.

And that he was the only known witness of Darth Masakh’s massacre.

On second thought, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to keep him close for a short while, until the Council made some progress toward identifying the Sith.

“Alright,” said Ushijima. “I will see what I can do. Reon, wait with him until I return. I won’t be long.”

Reon nodded, and Semi seemed to relax as Ushijima crossed to the far side of the room. Before he stepped into the hallway, Ushijima gave Reon one last look, weighted by a silent message: _Don’t let him out of your sight._  


  
  
  
The following morning, Ushijima descended to the living quarters of the Padawan. Semi had been secured in a spare room at the end of the hall. Posted outside the door was a young apprentice whom Ushijima had petitioned for help the night before.

She sprang to her feet as Ushijima approached, bright and aware despite the long night.

“Master Ushijima!” she said. Her eagerness reminded him of his own Padawan. “I did as you said. No one tried to enter or exit the room. There were no attempted transmissions from inside. It was all quiet all night.”

Ushijima only realized how tense he’d been when relief unknotted the muscles of his shoulders. “Excellent. Thank you for your help. I will make sure to tell your Master that you were of great assistance.”

She smiled with the glow of Coruscant Prime. “Thank you, Master Ushijima. If you ever need anything else, please ask. I’m happy to help”

He thanked her again, and she skipped away, delighted.

The girl was going to have to get a better grasp on her emotions before she could earn the title of Jedi Knight. He supposed she would get there, someday. He’d seen worse. 

After all, he was training Goshiki.

Ushijima knocked on the door, and after a moment Semi appeared, dressed in the spare clothing that Goshiki had lended him the night before. It was plain, and had perhaps seen better days, but it was a decent fit, and better than the rags Semi had been passing off as clothing.

“Good morning,” said Ushijima, as Semi joined him in the hallway. “Did you rest well?”

Semi dipped his hands into his pockets and glanced around before nodding. He’d taken a thorough shower sometime since Ushijima had seen him, too. His face was clean and freshly shaved, and his hair, washed and untangled, had a pearly shine.

“I suppose,” said Semi. “I spent my entire childhood hoping I would reside in one of these rooms someday. It was an experience, if nothing else.”

The statement was a bit bitter, but Semi didn’t seem that way. He appeared more relaxed than he had been the day before, his scowl lighter, posture less guarded.

Ushijima supposed a night of sleep in a safe place had done him some good.

“I will escort you to breakfast, if you would like,” said Ushijima. “Then we will discuss what will become of you.”

That invited back some of Semi’s tension. One corner of his mouth pulled tight, his stare sticking to the floor. “Right,” he said. “Okay then.”

Ushijima sensed his discontent, but didn’t know how to combat it. Instead he led the way down to the canteen. He had allowed a bit of time to pass between the time he’d woken and the time he’d gone to fetch Semi for breakfast. He didn’t want any extra attention from his fellow Jedi, considering he hadn’t technically asked for permission to allow Semi to reside there. The Council had greater concerns, and he didn’t wish to bother them with trifling matters.

Still, there were several of his peers present when they arrived at the canteen, their meals nearly finished. They nodded to him in acknowledgement and gave his companion a speculative look, but returned to their business without issue or question.

Goshiki was on the far side of the room, sitting among a few of his fellow Padawans. When Ushijima and Semi sat with their food, he immediately darted over to join them.

“Good morning!” he said, in his usual slightly-too-loud tone. 

“Good morning, Tsutomu,” said Ushijima. 

Semi grumbled something under his breath, focused on his meal.

“I didn’t tell anyone about… _you know_ ,” said Goshiki, leaning closer. “What happened yesterday. Although I really wanted to, because you fought a _Sith Lord_.” The last part was as close to a whisper as Goshiki had ever gotten. “And you were stronger. You would have won the fight if it hadn’t been for…” He trailed off, glanced at Semi, and then lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Master Ushijima. I thought if I could creep up behind him I could help you, but I should have waited for your instruction. It’s my fault that he escaped.”

Ushijima put down his fork and gave Goshiki his full attention. “You did what you thought was best,” said Ushijima, “and your willingness to help is appreciated. You must, however, come to terms with your own abilities, and what you are lacking. You would not have endured a fight with Darth Masakh. His strength was too great. Be aware of your strengths, Tsutomu, but also your weaknesses. You are growing stronger in the Force every day, but you still have much to learn.”

Goshiki bit his lip, head still down. “Yes, Master Ushijima.”

“You will spend the morning in meditation,” said Ushijima, “reflecting on these things. Go now.”

Goshiki nearly tripped over himself in his haste to obey. He scurried out of the canteen, bypassing his fellow Padawans without comment. They all looked to Ushijima with a measure of curiosity.

“He seems like a good kid,” said Semi, watching him go. “A little reckless, maybe, but a good kid.”

“Tsutomu has great potential,” said Ushijima. Pride wasn’t a proper attribute for a Jedi, but he couldn’t help being proud of Goshiki. The boy had come a long way since he’d began his training. “When he matures, he will do great things. The Force is strong with him.”

Semi seemed to ponder that, staring at the door through which Goshiki had exited before returning to his food. 

Reon arrived just as they finished their meals. He sat at their table with a huff, not bothering with any rehearsed greetings.

“The Grand Master would like to speak with you this afternoon,” he told Ushijima. “He didn’t say, but I’m certain it is concerning yesterday’s events.”

Ushijima nodded. “Understood.”

Semi looked between them, but said nothing.

“One of the Council members left early this morning,” said Reon, more quietly. “I believe he went to see the ruins of the temple for himself.”

“Good. Perhaps it will encourage the Council to take the situation more seriously.”

“They’re taking it seriously,” said Reon. “They just cannot act without conviction.”

“I have enough conviction for all of them,” said Ushijima. He laid his napkin across his tray and sat back. “The Sith have returned and we must act now, before their power grows.”

Silence fell among them. It was heavy, sloughing into Ushijima’s lungs and making his chest tight with tension. It stretched on until Reon said, “So what of you, Semi? What do you intend to do now?”

Semi released a breath and stared off to the side, fingers tapping idly on the edge of the table. “I was thinking, perhaps, that I might… I might stay on Coruscant for a while.” He hesitated, frown deepening, and added, “This isn’t the ideal place for me, considering my past, but it would be nice to settle down for a short time. The constant traveling is beginning to wear on me. As you’ve noticed, a life of wandering isn’t treating me very well.”

Reon offered a smile. “That is a fair plan.”

“I suppose I’ll start looking around for work,” said Semi, “if anyone will have me.”

“What’s your specialty?”

“I’m a decent pilot,” said Semi. He glanced up at Reon and added, “but I’m a great mechanic. That’s how I’ve been getting around the past few years. Collecting old parts and patching rust buckets up just enough to get me to the next planet.”

“Many people travel in and out of Coruscant,” said Reon. “There is always a need for mechanics, for minor repairs if nothing else. I’d be more than willing to speak to a few of them and see if they need any assistance.”

Semi shook his head, quickly. “No, I… Thanks for the offer, but I’d prefer to make my own way. I don’t like putting myself in others’ debt.”

“That isn’t why I offered.” Reon seemed puzzled by his behavior, but Ushijima understood. Semi was the type of man who would rather die independent than live as an encumbrance to others. It may have been pride, or something else. “I don’t expect you to owe me anything.”

“I know, it’s not that, it’s just… it’s a personal thing. I’d like to try on my own first.” Semi’s eyes flickered from Reon to Ushijima. “If I could impose on you for a few more days, though, I would appreciate having a roof to sleep under until I find a place of my own. I’m willing to work for my stay. I don’t expect anything for free.”

Ushijima considered him. On the surface, Semi seemed like a strong, determined individual who’d fallen on hard times. He’d left Coruscant a long time ago, and though Ushijima would have chosen a different path if faced with the same circumstances, he did understand Semi’s mindset about his failure to be accepted into the Order. Many people would have made the same decisions, and those people did not deserve to be Jedi.

Still, Ushijima didn’t know if allowing Semi to stay for any length of time was a wise decision. The Jedi Order did often house refugees, but there was a separate facility for that purpose. Rarely ever was anyone allowed to stay at the Jedi Temple. Ushijima wasn’t certain that he even had the authority to give anyone permission, though he’d done it the night before without much forethought.

He looked to Reon, and felt rather than saw his nod of approval. 

“You may stay for one week,” said Ushijima. “If you have not found somewhere to go by then, Reon and I can assist you with other arrangements. A week is the most we can offer you.”

Semi nodded. He appeared relieved, which was a change from the night before when he’d been averse to staying at the Temple. “A week is plenty of time.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ushijima had been concerned that Semi’s presence would become an inconvenience.

It was quite the opposite.

“That should do it,” said Semi. He crawled out from beneath the dash of Yamagata’s ship, oil smeared up his forearms and smudged on one side of his face. “There were a few loose connections. Your flux converter is a little rusty, too. If you get a new one I’ll replace it for you. It’ll smooth out your jumps to light speed.”

Yamagata’s eyes were the size of small planets. He dove beneath the dash to check Semi’s handiwork, slipping in the oil that had dripped onto the floor.

“How’d you get so good at this?” asked Yamagata in awe as he prodded at the newly linked cables. “My go-to mechanic would’ve taken at least another hour to finish this up. It would’ve been pricey, too.”

Semi shrugged and pushed a handful of hair away from his face. He remembered the grease on his hands a second too late. He scowled down at his palms and wiped them on the front of his pants. “I had to learn to do something,” he said. “I picked it up here and there. I worked on droids at first, but fixing ships is a more valuable skill. I ruined a couple of nice X-wings when I first started, but I caught on pretty quickly.”

Ushijima leaned back against the opposite wall of the cockpit, watching the pair of them. He’d been a bit reluctant when Yamagata had offered to let Semi give his ship a tune-up, for the sake of becoming a reference for his employment search. It seemed his worries had been in vain.

“This wiring is so clean!” said Yamagata, still wriggling beneath the dash. “You should be a master mechanic, my man. The shops around here would be lucky to have you.”

Semi shook his head, but he smiled a little, the first one that Ushijima had seen from him. 

“Have you had any success?” asked Ushijima.

The smile flickered away. “I’ve talked to a few people,” said Semi. “They want evidence that I do good work, but they won’t let me touch their ships to prove it.”

“I’ve got you,” said Yamagata, pushing his way from beneath the dash and sitting up. “Send them my way. I’m a well-respected pilot around here, especially since Ushijima became one of my frequent fliers. I’ll tell them you’ve got some impressive skills.”

Ushijima thought Semi would deny the help, just as he’d denied Reon’s offer a few days before, but he simply said, “Sure. Thank you, Yamagata.”

Yamagata sketched a quick salute. “No problem.” He heaved himself to his feet, started to speak again, and hesitated. “By the way,” he said, with uncharacteristic caution, “Sorry about roughing you up that one time, when I cuffed you and dragged you around. I was a little overzealous. You’re alright, Semi.”

Semi looked away, focusing instead on the cluster of controls nearest him. “There’s no need to apologize. I had it coming.”

“Master Ushijima?” 

Goshiki’s voice echoed through the ship, bouncing off of the metal walls. 

“Yes, Tsutomu?”

Goshiki popped his head into the cockpit a moment later. “Ah, here you are! Master Oohira would like to speak with you. He said it’s important, but not _urgent_ -important.”

That had been a necessary classification they’d had to make when Goshiki was involved. If he believed a matter was urgent, the boy tended to get overexcited.

“Thank you, Tsutomu. Would you stay with Semi and escort him back inside when he is ready?” 

Goshiki brightened. “Of course, Master Ushijima!”

Semi frowned, but wiped the expression from his face quickly. Ushijima didn’t think too far into it. Despite his willingness to allow Semi to stay inside the Temple, he would not permit him to wander around alone. There were sacred spaces accessible only to Jedi, and even if Semi had no malicious intent, he could still wander into the wrong places by accident. If that occurred, it wouldn’t be Semi who suffered the consequences, but Ushijima for allowing him there.

Ushijima would have accepted those consequences without complaint. He was, in all likelihood, breaking some sort of rule by allowing Semi there without Council approval. But the Council was still brewing over the newfound existence of the Sith, and he would not distract them from it.

Ushijima bid them farewell and headed back toward the Temple. Yamagata had earned the right to dock his ship in the hub that neighbored the Temple, a privilege reserved for very few pilots. They were the most trusted by the Jedi, and Ushijima had ensured that Yamagata was among that number after the first time he had saved Ushijima’s life with his flying abilities. He often lacked caution and was a bit reckless, but his skills as a pilot were unmatched. Ushijima could fly any ship he chose, and competently, but he always felt safer when it was Yamagata behind the controls.

Goshiki was capable of piloting a ship, also, but acting as his passenger always made Ushijima dizzy.

Reon was waiting in his quarters, which were an exact replica of Ushijima’s. The two of them sat by the window that overlooked the city, enjoying a moment of passive silence before Reon spoke.

“There has been news from Ruusan,” said Reon. A grim weight made the words heavy. “Another temple has been destroyed. This one was more remote, and none of us were nearby, so the destruction was complete before a distress signal was received. The only difference is the location. The damage was the same.”

“Sith,” said Ushijima. It wasn’t a question. He had no doubt that Darth Masakh was responsible. 

“It’s likely,” said Reon. “The Grand Master would like you and I to fly out to Ruusan. Since we were the ones present at the last incident, he thinks we can best decide if the aggressor is the same.”

“It is,” said Ushijima. “I’m certain of it.”

Reon inclined his head. “Then the Council will be as well, after we go to Ruusan and see the destruction for ourselves. He wishes us to go in the morning.”

“Why not now? Waiting is only wasting time.”

“He didn’t give a reason,” said Reon, “but I believe he is reluctant to respond to the attack with too much urgency. An immediate response would mean he is taking the threat of the Sith to heart, and I don’t think he is yet ready to admit that they’ve returned.”

“I will speak to him,” said Ushijima, standing. “We will go today.”

“Wakatoshi.”

Ushijima stopped halfway to the door.

“This time,” said Reon, “I think it’s best that we wait. The Grand Master is under a lot of strain. He informed me of this mission rather than you for a reason. I think he isn’t yet ready to face the reality of the Sith. He needs time to come to terms with it. Give him another day. Tomorrow we will reset the priorities of the Jedi Order, and all of our lives will be changed. For now, rest and prepare. I know you often lecture Goshiki about his tendency toward overzealousness. Perhaps you should reflect on that in yourself.”

As badly as Ushijima wanted to argue, he couldn’t deny the wisdom of the advice. That was the frustrating thing about Reon. He was rarely ever wrong.

“Sit,” said Reon, gesturing toward the chair Ushijima had abandoned. “That was the important news, but I have some of lesser consequence, as well.”

Ushijima returned to the table, tucking away the part of himself that demanded immediate action. Things couldn’t always be solved in haste. Sometimes patience was a necessary stepping stone on the path to achievement.

“It’s regarding Semi,” said Reon. “The information you requested from our training days.” He tapped the surface of the table and a hologram bloomed to life between them, a revolving depiction of a young Semi Eita. 

Reon tapped a few more times and words scrolled into existence, blurring by too quickly to read. “I read through the Order’s files regarding his training. You already know they don’t keep much information on record, for safety and anonymity. The account of his departure from the Order is interesting, though.”

The words stopped scrolling, a single paragraph floating into full view.

Ushijima read through it, and he should have been surprised. Instead he felt only resolve, edged with suspicion.

He swiped his palm across the table and the hologram disappeared

“Do you intend to confront him about it?” asked Reon.

Ushijima considered. His first reaction was to march back down to Yamagata’s ship and demand a full account of the truth. Semi was hiding something from them, whether maliciously or not.

“I don’t know why he would lie,” said Ushijima. “What reason would he have?”

Reon shook his head. “Maybe he has a valid excuse.”

“There is no excuse for deceit.”

“Not for a Jedi,” said Reon. “You must remember that he isn’t one of us.”

“And not for the reason he told us,” said Ushijima. He breathed a sigh. Perhaps he should have left Semi Eita in the ruins of the temple. His problems were stacking up like bricks. “I will speak to him, but it can wait until after our trip to Ruusan. The Sith is of the most importance. I don’t wish to be distracted with other issues until that is resolved.”

Reon nodded his approval. 

“I’ll have Tsutomu stay behind tomorrow,” said Ushijima, “and keep an eye on him. Just in case.”

“He’ll be disappointed,” said Reon with a slight smile. “You know he likes to be in the middle of everything.”

“He will learn to overcome that,” said Ushijima. “The boy is improving. He’ll be a great Jedi someday.”

“I have no doubt of that,” said Reon. “With you as his Master, he has no other option.”

Ushijima gave his closest approximation of a smile. “Thank you, Reon.”

He lingered for a while, the two of them discussing the next day’s mission. Ushijima doubted that they would have another run-in with the Sith – Darth Masakh would be long gone by then – but it was best to be prepared, just in case.

If they did find him again, Ushijima was confident that he and Reon could cut the Sith down. The two of them were the strongest of the current Jedi Knights, save for the Council members. If it had been Reon rather than Goshiki who had walked into Ushijima and Masakh’s fight, the outcome would have been different.

When the afternoon began to give way into evening, Ushijima took his leave and descended to the lower levels. He expected to find Goshiki somewhere on the floor of the Padawans, and he was not disappointed.

He stepped into Goshiki’s room and was met by a tornado of nuts and bolts and a couple of thin paperback books spinning in the center of the room. At the nucleus of the floating objects was Semi, sitting with his legs crossed and his eyes closed.

“Master Ushijima!” said Goshiki. He stood at the far wall, bouncing in excitement. At the sound of his voice the objects wavered, but quickly resumed their orbit. “Look! Semi can still use the Force!”

Semi’s mouth curled into a half-smile, a little fond, a little bitter. He opened his eyes and the objects gradually floated down to rest on the floor.

“Not without effort,” he said, expelling a breath. “I don’t know if it’s age or disuse, but it’s a lot harder than it used to be.” He climbed to his feet, but went still when he noticed the way Ushijima was looking at him. Semi’s face went flat; guarded.

Ushijima almost asked him then, about the information Reon had collected, about Semi’s dishonesty. He almost asked, but he’d already said he would wait, and he had good reason to do so.

If only Ushijima had said something, things may have turned out differently.

“Master Ushijima?” said Goshiki, failing to pick up on the tension. “Did you need something?”

“Yes,” said Ushijima. “I must speak with you.”

“Tsutomu said he has problems with his focus sometimes,” said Semi. His voice was empty, inflectionless. “I was only trying to help him.”

“Thank you for your consideration,” said Ushijima. “If you would be so kind as to retreat to your temporary living quarters, I would like to speak with my Padawan.”

Semi bowed his head and did as he was asked, keeping a wide berth around Ushijima as he left the room.

Goshiki watched him go, his brows pulled together in concern. “Master Ushijima?” he said, uncertain. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Tsutomu. You did nothing.”

Goshiki paused, still thinking, and asked, “Did Semi do something wrong?”

He had, but Ushijima wasn’t going to burden his Padawan with such things.

“Don’t worry,” said Ushijima. “I just need to speak with you about tomorrow. Reon and I have been assigned to go to Ruusan.”

“Ruusan,” repeated Goshiki, immediately shedding his unease of a moment before. “I’ve never been there! What time are we leaving?”

“Reon and I will leave at dawn,” said Ushijima. “You will not accompany us.”

Goshiki looked as if he’d been struck. His mouth fell open, face collapsing into hurt. “But… you said I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You did not.”

“Then why can’t I go?” said Goshiki. “I’m sorry about what happened with Darth Masakh. I shouldn’t have rushed in like that. It won’t happen again, I swear, I will not-”

“Tsutomu,” said Ushijima, cutting him short. “This is not because of anything that you have done. I need you to stay here and tend to something else. It’s important.”

A prickle of interest grew beneath Goshiki’s disappointment. “Something else?”

Ushijima glanced at the door to confirm it had been securely shut after Semi’s departure. “I need you to watch Semi while we are gone. The entire time that we are gone. Do not let him out of your sight. If he does anything out of the ordinary, contact me immediately.”

Goshiki grew solemn. It was a rare expression on him, but it made him look older. When he behaved seriously, Ushijima could see in him the sort of strong Jedi that he would one day become. “Is something wrong with Semi?”

“I can’t say for certain,” said Ushijima. “I only know that I do not feel comfortable leaving him unattended. I am trusting you with this, Tsutomu. Do not leave him alone for a single moment while I am gone.”

Goshiki nodded. “Yes, Master Ushijima. You can trust me.”

“I know I can,” said Ushijima. “That is the only reason I would ask this of you.”

Goshiki swelled beneath the praise. 

Ushijima was going to have to break him of that, also.

“I will recruit one of your fellow Padawan to sit outside his room tonight,” said Ushijima, “so you will be well rested for tomorrow. Rise at dawn and go straight to him. Remember what I said.”

“I will.”

Ushijima dropped a hand onto Goshiki’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “You are a good Padawan, Tsutomu. I am counting on you.”

Goshiki puffed his chest out and nodded, face set. “I won’t let you down.”

Ushijima squeezed his shoulder lightly, glanced at the scatter of objects that Semi had left strewn about the floor, and left the room.

Goshiki was easily distracted, and sometimes weak to his emotions, but Ushijima was confident in the boy’s ability to follow orders. He would watch Semi, and if anything at all went wrong, Ushijima would be informed immediately.

Ushijima told himself that nothing would go wrong the following day, because there was no evidence to suggest otherwise.

Later, he would realize just how blind he had been

  
  
  
  
  
Ushijima was on board Yamagata’s ship two hours before dawn, unable to lie awake in his bed any longer. He’d woken Reon on his way down, and given Yamagata a call to inform him that they would leave a little ahead of schedule.

Reon didn’t complain about the early hour. When he climbed onto the ship, he was wide awake, and greeted Ushijima with his usual amiability.

Yamagata was a different story.

“I’m going to resign as your pilot,” said Yamagata as he dragged himself into the cockpit, rubbing at his eyes. His hair was flat, the circles beneath his eyes suggested he’d lost two days of sleep rather than two hours, and his clothing was more crumpled than usual. “We’re the only three people stupid enough to be awake at this hour.”

“Good morning to you, as well,” said Ushijima. He dropped into a vacant seat and tugged at the straps. “If we leave now, we should arrive at Ruusan by dawn. Our dawn, anyway. I believe their primary sun rose thirty-five minutes ago.”

“What a pity we missed that,” said Yamagata, flipping switches along the dash. “We should’ve left sooner.”

“If I’d believed you capable of waking up any earlier,” said Ushijima, “we would have.”

Yamagata gave him a dead look, engaged the ignition, and tapped out a code to open the bay door. Moments later they were in the air, cruising toward the atmosphere of Coruscant, Yamagata already priming the ship for hyperdrive. 

“If we stick to the faster routes, we should get there in a little over three hours,” said Yamagata. “I’ll get us on course and you guys can step in and drive for a while so I can grab a nap. You don’t want your pilot running on fumes.”

“You may nap when we return,” said Ushijima. “For now, please focus on your job.”

Yamagata sighed in defeat as he pulled down a lever and the ship shuddered into hyperspeed.

As they sped across the galaxy, Reon and Yamagata engaged in conversation about things Ushijima couldn’t make himself care about. Yamagata’s complaints about the early hour gradually lessened as his mood improved. Reon was nearly always cheerful, no matter what time of day or night. Typically waking early did not affect Ushijima, but that morning, something was different.

He stood and paced to one side of the ship, peering out at the stars that blurred by through the thick glass. There was an uneasy feeling in his chest, subtle yet persistent, gnawing at his bones with small, needle-sharp teeth.

His mind wandered to Goshiki, who wouldn’t have risen just yet. He thought of their conversation the day before, and suddenly wished he’d brought his Padawan along with him.

Once Goshiki crossed his mind, Ushijima could think of nothing else. The thought stuck there like a stubborn piece of tape, peeling away at the edges, but refusing to vanish completely.

He wandered back up toward the cockpit, to Yamagata and Reon. They still chatted as if nothing was wrong, and perhaps it wasn’t, but the nagging feeling wouldn’t leave him.

“Reon,” said Ushijima. “Do you feel alright?”

Reon’s brows rose. “Yes. Why?”

Ushijima frowned. He glanced to the side, at the window again. “I don’t know. I feel odd.”

If anyone else had made such a statement, it would have been easily dismissed. People often felt odd for no real reason. It wasn’t a cause for crisis.

But Ushijima wasn’t just anyone, and Reon knew him well.

Reon stood, eyeing Ushijima closely. “What sort of odd, exactly?”

Yamagata swiveled in his chair, watching the pair of them in courteous silence.

“I’m not certain,” said Ushijima. “Something about Tsutomu, perhaps.”

Reon seemed to relax a little. “Do you feel guilty about leaving him behind? It was for the best. I’m sure he’s already forgiven you.”

“No,” said Ushijima. “That isn’t it. I feel…”

He couldn’t find the proper words, couldn’t piece together a way to express himself.

A few seconds later, he no longer had to.

Something cut through him, a silent lightning strike, black and cold. His vision faded, his mind swam, and he seized the sill of the cockpit door to keep himself on his feet. 

Again he thought of Goshiki, and this time a tendril of dread squeezed him nearly breathless.

Ushijima blinked, refocused, and saw that Reon looked shaken as well.

“You felt that,” said Ushijima. It wasn’t a question.

Reon nodded, his face a bit slack.

“Turn around,” said Ushijima, to a baffled Yamagata. “Get us back to Coruscant.”

“What? We’ve barely been gone a half hour, why do you-”

“ _Now_ , Hayato,” said Ushijima, his voice as close to a yell as it had ever gotten. “As quickly as you can. There’s been a disturbance in the Force.”

Yamagata hesitated for only a fleeting breath. He spun his chair around, abruptly yanked them out of hyperdrive, and nearly knocked Ushijima off his feet as he did a pinpoint turn. 

“Hold onto something,” said Yamagata, his jaw set as he fired up the ship to jump back into hyperdrive. “This won’t be an easy ride.”


	4. Chapter 4

The Jedi Temple was on fire.

Smoke curled into the air like a macabre message, heralding death.

Ushijima didn’t have to tell Yamagata to get them on the ground. He sped forward without instruction, pulling up with such force that Ushijima nearly toppled.

“This is as close as I can get you!” shouted Yamagata as the landing door slid open. “The other buildings are too close!”

“Stand by,” said Ushijima. “We may need you.”

“Ten-four,” said Yamagata. He reached for his headset and settled it over his ears. “I’ll be circling above.”

Ushijima stepped up to the landing door. The ramp dangled fifteen feet off of the ground. He looked at Reon, who stood across from him, waiting. They shared a nod and Ushijima leapt first, the wind of the descent rushing in his ears. The Force cushioned his fall and he landed on the stone street below with barely a grunt.

Reon was only a second behind him, but already Ushijima was running toward the tall doors of the temple, from which a steady stream of people escaped in a frenzy.

Ushijima recognized one of them and seized her by the arm, halting her retreat, spinning her to face him.

It was the Padawan girl he’d recruited to watch Semi’s door the first night, the one that was a little too bright and a little too eager.

She was neither of those things now. Her eyes were wide, but with panic rather than excitement. She had the pallor of a corpse, her hair in disarray, still dressed in her nightclothes. 

“What is happening?” said Ushijima. When she didn’t immediately answer he shook her, and her eyes came into slight focus. “Answer me. What happened?”

She tried to speak, stuttered over a sob, and said, “I don’t- I don’t know. They stormed the temple, a lot of them, with blasters. I ran to my Master but she didn’t- she couldn’t-” She choked on another sob, and Reon nudged Ushijima aside. 

“It’s alright,” said Reon, gripping her shoulders. He went down on one knee to look up at her. Ushijima felt the gentle waves of the Force floating off of him, bringing calmness to the girl’s mind. “Try again. Tell us what happened.”

Ushijima looked again to the temple, to the smoke blackening the already dark sky. 

“It’s an invasion,” said the girl. Her voice was steady, her eyes unfocused. “A group of soldiers. I don’t know what they’re doing here. I went to my Master. She was fighting them. I tried to help, but she told me to run. I did, and as soon as I made it to the entrance hall, they struck her down. I didn’t see it, but I felt it. I felt her die.”

She drew a shaky breath, but Reon’s influence kept her under control. “Who is invading?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “The soldiers are dressed all in white. They didn’t say anything to us. They just started shooting.”

Reon gave Ushijima a look, then stood and nudged the girl along. “Get somewhere safe,” he said. “Go on, run.”

She blinked at him a few times, dazed. Then she turned and raced off toward the city.

“What do you think?” said Reon. He unclipped his lightsaber from his belt. Ushijima did the same. 

“Semi said the Sith raised an army,” said Ushijima, remembering what he’d told them at the Temple. “I think we’re about to meet them.”

As one, the two of them ran toward the Temple, against the trickle of those who fled. Very few of them were of the Jedi Order. Some were the children-in-training, and others were civilians who were paid to maintain some aspect of the temple or run the canteen. 

But all of them were terrified.

“I have a bad feeling about Tsutomu,” said Ushijima as they rushed to the upper floors. “I need to find him.”

“Go on,” said Reon. “I’ll head up and try to find the other Knights. May the Force be with you.”

“And with you,” said Ushijima, as Reon branched off and he was left sprinting along on his own.

The Padawan hallway was vacant. Maybe no soldiers had been there.

Or maybe they’d already been there and gone.

He slammed his fist against the panel outside Goshiki’s room and the door slid open. He stepped inside, but had to go no further. His Padawan wasn’t there. 

The same scatter of objects was on the floor from the night before, when Semi had demonstrated his use of the Force.

Ushijima dashed back into the hallway and ran to the end, checking the room that had been temporarily assigned to Semi.

It was empty as well.

Ushijima suppressed a growl of frustration and rushed toward the upper floors to find Reon. He couldn’t allow himself to think too hard about what could have happened to Goshiki. If he did, he risked compromising his focus, and this was not the time to give into weakness.

He met his first foes on the floor below his living quarters. It was a trio of soldiers, dressed in white armor as the Padawan girl had said. She hadn’t known the name for them, but Ushijima did. Storm Troopers.

One of them pointed at Ushijima, and the other two raised their blasters.

Ushijima triggered his lightsaber and felt the pulse of energy rush through his palm, up his arm, and down to his very soul. 

They fired, blasts of light speeding toward him faster than his eyes could track. 

But he was a Jedi, and he didn’t need to use his eyes.

His blade hummed in front of him, deflecting the blasts, sending them skating into the walls. The saber cast a blue glow onto the stark white armor of the storm troopers as Ushijima rushed forward and cut them down one by one, the stench of metal and burning flesh heavy on the air.

He leapt over them and continued on, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

It wasn’t until he took his first step onto the floor that housed the Jedi Knights’ quarters that he felt something. It wasn’t a physical feeling – most important things weren’t – but it struck him like a blow to the chest. 

He went down on one knee, clutching at the wall to keep from falling. Pain ripped through him with fangs and claws, down to his very core. It knocked the breath from his lungs, and in the midst of the emotional anguish, he vaguely realized someone was approaching from behind.

He couldn’t stand, not yet, but he swung his saber back just in time to pierce through the chest of the storm trooper bearing down on him. The soldier crumpled, and Ushijima was again alone.

He stood, his robes catching around his feet, and took a staggering step forward. He forced himself to press on, although he felt like doing nothing more than lying on the ground and mourning. 

Ushijima knew what that pain was. It was the agony of a life being torn away before its time, the violent passing of someone close to him. 

The Grand Master, the man who had trained him from childhood, was dead.

Ushijima continued his journey upward, toward the Council Chambers. The death hadn’t come from a specific direction, but still he knew where to go. He knew it as clearly as he knew who was responsible for this massacre.

When he reached the top floor, a pair of slaughtered Jedi Knights were slouched at the head of the corridor. Ushijima stepped over them, only taking time enough to confirm that neither of them were Reon, before moving forward.

He didn’t make it to the end of the corridor, where the tall doors to the Council Chambers waited. Semi Eita stepped into his path, and Ushijima’s hand clenched around the grip of his lightsaber.

They studied one another, Ushijima resolute, Semi almost regretful.

“Move,” said Ushijima.

Semi held up his hands. “Please listen,” he said. “They took Tsutomu. I tried to stop them, I really did, but the Force doesn’t work for me like it used to. They nearly killed me. They dragged him out just a few minutes ago, headed back toward the entrance. If you hurry, you’ll catch them.”

There was no aura of deceit around him. He seemed completely genuine.

Then again, Ushijima had also believed his honesty when he’d explained his failure in the Jedi Order.

Ushijima triggered his lightsaber, and the blue blade glowed between them. “Where is my Padawan?”

Semi took an unsteady step back. “I told you, they took him. Please, I really tried to stop them. You have to believe me.”

“I believed you before,” said Ushijima. “I do not any longer. Where is Tsutomu?”

Semi blinked at him, wide eyes reflecting panic. Then he expelled a breath, and his expression went cold. “How’d you know?” he asked, his hands slowly floating back to his sides. 

“The Order keeps records,” said Ushijima. “The year of our testing, the Grand Master elected to accept two Padawans to train. I was the first. You would have been the second, if you hadn’t turned your back on the Jedi Order and fled. We would have been trained together, as brothers. You would have been Jedi.”

“Yes,” said Semi, “I would have been Jedi. But at what cost?”

Ushijima didn’t understand, and he didn’t ask. He didn’t have time. He started forward, and Semi flung a hand toward him.

The Force roared like wind in Ushijima’s ears. He was thrust back toward the head of the corridor, flailed for balance, and barely managed to keep his feet when he landed. 

Semi hadn’t moved. “I’m sorry, Ushijima. I have no personal grudges against you. I’m only doing what I must.”

“Why did you lie?” said Ushijima. He restarted his approach, more slowly.

“I had to make you trust me,” said Semi. “I needed a way into the Temple.”

“For what purpose?”

“For the good of the universe,” said a new voice, one that echoed from the end of the hallway with dark malice.

A figure stepped out of the Council Chambers, black robes wrapping him from head to foot. A mask concealed his face, the same mask that Ushijima had seen at the temple ruins a week before. “Ushijima Wakatoshi,” said Darth Masakh. “We meet again.”

“For the last time,” said Ushijima. “I will end you.”

“Don’t be hasty,” said the Sith. Ushijima felt his grin. “Come here, Eita. I need you.”

Darth Masakh retreated, and Semi looked at Ushijima, wary.

Ushijima rushed forward, but Semi was prepared. He sent another buffeting wave of Force, and this one threw Ushijima to the floor. He scrambled upright just quickly enough to see Semi dart through the doors of the Council Chambers. 

Ushijima followed, his path lit by the glow of his lightsaber. 

He wished Reon was with him. Fighting Darth Masakh would be trouble enough, but with Semi backing him, the fight would be tough.

Even so, Ushijima would still fight, because that was his duty.

He stepped through the doors, expecting to be greeted by immediate combat. 

Instead, he was greeted by the eerie stillness of death.

The Grand Master had been murdered in his Council seat, his head severed by the hot blade of a saber.

There was no evidence that he’d tried to fight, but he must have. He was the strongest Jedi that Ushijima had ever met. To be chosen by him as a Padawan had been his greatest honor.

Now he was nothing more than a corpse.

He dragged his eyes from his dead master to Darth Masakh, who stood in the center of the floor, arms spread in invitation. “You look like you want to fight,” taunted Masakh. “Come then. I’ll gladly oblige.”

Ushijima looked to the side, where Semi had retreated to the far wall. Another Sith was with him, also robed in black, but lacking a mask. His hair was cut across his forehead at an angle, his eyes cold. A hood cast his features into shadow, but Ushijima wasn’t concerned with him. His attention was claimed by the last occupant of the room, who stood by docilely. 

“Tsutomu,” said Ushijima, the name rough through clenched teeth.

Goshiki didn’t even flinch.

Darth Masakh laughed. “Don’t worry about your young Padawan. He doesn’t know what’s happening at the moment, but he’ll be fine. We’ll take good care of him, won’t we, Eita?”

Semi glanced at him, but didn’t respond. He put a hand on Goshiki’s shoulder and said, “You will go with Darth Kal. You will board a ship with him.”

“I will go with Darth Kal,” repeated Goshiki, his eyes distant. “I will board a ship with him.”

“No,” said Ushijima. He started toward them, and a spark of anger kindled in his chest. He tried to stamp it out. He couldn’t let his emotions gain control of him, not now.

The other Sith – Darth Kal, the apprentice – drew his lightsaber, but he didn’t have to use it. Darth Masakh swooped in front of Ushijima, his red blade flying, and Ushijima swung his saber up to block it. Sparks flew from the impact, and Ushijima felt the Sith’s leer.

“You have no reason to be afraid,” said Semi, eyes still on Goshiki. “We will not hurt you.”

“I have no reason to be afraid,” mirrored Goshiki. “You will not-”

“NO!” shouted Ushijima, the word ripping from his throat. He slammed his blade into Darth Masakh, knocked him several steps back, and darted around him. 

Darth Kal unclipped another lightsaber, and Ushijima thought he would come at him with dual blades. Instead he tossed one to Semi and tugged Goshiki forward by his sleeve. “I’ll take the boy,” said Darth Kal. “We’ll wait on the ship.”

Ushijima lunged toward him, but this time it was Semi who stepped between them. His weapon burst to life just in time to deflect Ushijima’s blade. His lightsaber wasn’t red, like his Sith counterpart’s. It was lighter, a ruddy shade of magenta. Semi took a step closer and followed up with a slice at his torso.

Ushijima jumped back and swung at him, but aborted the motion halfway through to dodge an attack from behind, where Darth Masakh had moved in. He threw himself to the side, slammed his shoulder against the floor as he fell, and rolled to his feet facing the pair of them.

They stood between him and the door, through which his Padawan had just vanished.

“What do you want with him?” said Ushijima. 

“Toss me your lightsaber and I’ll tell you,” said Darth Masakh.

Ushijima gritted his teeth and rushed forward.

He wasn’t trying to grievously wound either of them. He was only trying to carve a path through the fray, to come out on the other side unscathed, so he could chase after Darth Kal. 

But neither of them were giving even an inch, and both were extremely skilled in battle.

Ushijima brought his blade down in an overhead strike, directly at Semi’s shoulder. Semi dodged and Darth Masakh stepped up to swing at Ushijima instead. The two of them were perfectly in sync, a constant rise and fall, give and take. If one of them had a flicker of weakness, the other was immediately there to pick up the slack.

Ushijima fought with all the strength that he had, and it was the most desperate he’d ever felt. He tried to push that away, to focus only on the fight in front of him, but he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to Goshiki.

If he didn’t get to him, he didn’t know what would happen.

If something happened, it would be his fault for not protecting him.

He spun on his heel and sliced toward Semi, who hadn’t been properly braced for an attack. He got his lightsaber up just in time but was knocked backward, the blade flying from his grip. Ushijima pushed the discarded lightsaber away with a flick of his mind. It sailed across the room, out of reach, as he bore down on Semi. 

Semi’s eyes flew wide and he threw up a hand, a wave of Force pressing against Ushijima, trying to knock him back. It was weaker than the blows Semi had sent at him before, and Ushijima pushed through.

Semi scrambled back, trying to create distance between them. Panic was clear in his eyes. 

Ushijima felt the encroaching blow. He ducked as the saber cut through the air, right over his head. He spun, blade-first, and the jab was blocked by a fierce red saber. Ushijima pressed into the contact and the Sith pressed back, the blades sparking in protest. Ushijima slammed a kick into Darth Masakh’s leg, sent him stumbling, and sliced at the hand wielding the lightsaber.

The Sith stepped back, but not quickly enough.

Ushijima’s blue blade cut into flesh, and Darth Masakh screamed.

His lightsaber hit the ground and rolled, coming to a stop against Semi’s boot.

The Sith gripped at his wrist, panting down at his mutilated hand. It hadn’t taken off the whole thing, as Ushijima had planned. He’d only severed a couple of fingers, small tendrils of smoke curling from the glove and from the pieces of flesh on the floor.

“Satori!” shouted Semi, struggling to his feet. He seized the red lightsaber that had fallen, his grip tight. 

“I’m fine,” said Darth Masakh, his voice strained. “Just a couple fingers. I have more.” Semi took a step forward but Darth Masakh shook his head. “Don’t. Go make sure they got out.”

“No.” Semi moved closer, but Darth Masakh made a quick gesture toward him and he went rigid. 

“I can’t hold you there and keep myself alive at the same time,” said Darth Masakh. It sounded as if he was aiming for a playful tone, but the strain was evident in his voice. “Go. I’ll be fine, Semi-Semi. I have a plan.”

Semi looked unconvinced. He glanced between Darth Masakh and Ushijima and back again, but when the Force holding him was released, he didn’t try to interfere. He let the red lightsaber drop to the floor and took a step back as he reached out for his own. It soared across the room and into his hand.

“Don’t you dare die,” spat Semi as he backed toward the door. “If you do, I’ll murder you.”

“Anti-productive, Semi-Semi,” said Darth Masakh as Semi ducked into the corridor. He sighed, and held out a hand. His lightsaber twitched on the ground, then floated back to him. “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I don’t really feel like fighting anymore. Want to call a truce and let me leave?”

Ushijima sank deeper into his battle stance. 

It was answer enough.

“Okay,” said Darth Masakh. “How about this, then.” He pushed his hood back with his free hand, the butchered one, and slowly removed his mask. 

A mess of red hair came into view first, followed by a pale face, large but sharp eyes, and a cutting grin. 

Ushijima had heard what Semi had called him, but there had been too much happening for him to register the name. Now that he saw the face to match, everything clicked together.

Suddenly, Semi’s departure from the Jedi Order made sense.

Suddenly, _everything_ made sense.

“Tendou Satori,” said Ushijima.

Tendou’s grin widened even further. He’d gone sickly pale from pain, but it made him no less intimidating. “The great Ushijima Wakatoshi really does remember me,” he said. “It’s such an honor.”

Ushijima remembered Tendou all too well. He’d been in their training class as a child too, along with Semi. He’d been expelled just before the last stage of testing that preceded Padawan selections, because some other students had accused him of digging around in their minds and affecting their performances. Ushijima didn’t know if that was true. He didn’t know if it had ever been proven. But he did remember some of the Jedi expressing their concerns about Tendou, about his potential magnetism toward talents typical of the Dark Side of the Force. 

Tendou had been denied the chance to train as a Jedi, Semi had willingly left along with him, and they’d grown strong in their own way, outside of the Jedi influence.

This was their revenge.

“You know,” said Tendou, “I hadn’t intended to meet you here today, Wakatoshi. Semi-Semi said you and Reon were out for a while, off to check in on my latest masterpiece. I suppose you must have turned back pretty quickly.”

“How did he tell you?” said Ushijima. There was no way that Semi could have contacted anyone. He’d had someone watching him at all times; not just last night, but since the moment he’d stepped through the Temple doors. He hadn’t been given access to any communications equipment. He couldn’t have sent any transmissions.

“I can see your brain spinning,” said Tendou with a leer. He flexed the remaining fingers on his hand and winced. “He didn’t send me any secret messages, if that’s what you’re thinking. He didn’t have to. I can hear Semi’s mind anytime I want, just as he can hear mine.”

The last piece of the grisly puzzle snapped into place.

“Force bond,” said Ushijima, reciting the term that he’d only seen in obscure texts.

“Precisely,” said Tendou. “Semi and I have been together since childhood. We’ve grown strong together, and we’ve certainly bonded.” Something shifted in his smile, but it never left his face. “You treated him well while he was here. I knew you would. The Jedi are strong, but gullible.”

Ushijima stalked closer, lightsaber at his side. There had been enough talking.

“Don’t you have any other questions?” asked Tendou, stepping back. “Don’t you want to know where our base is, or why we’ve taken your young Padawan?”

“I would like to know,” said Ushijima, “but even if you tell me, it will not be the truth.”

Tendou’s grin grew. “Look at you, Wakatoshi. Learning from your mistakes. Don’t feel bad for being tricked. Semi-Semi is a good liar. I taught him myself.”

Ushijima raised his lightsaber to strike, but hesitated when Tendou’s weapon clattered to the floor.

“I concede,” said Tendou, raising his hands. His grin shrank, but it was still maddeningly smug. “You’ve bested me in combat, great Jedi Master.”

Ushijima didn’t immediately move. He hadn’t been prepared for this.

“You can’t kill me,” said Tendou. “I’m not Jedi, but I still remember the Code. The Jedi don’t kill their prisoners. They don’t torture them or cause undue harm. You will take me as your prisoner and lock me in a cell, but that’s the worst you can do.”

Ushijima’s grip went taut around the hilt of his blade. He wanted to strike anyway, to cut through the core of the man who’d murdered the Grand Master, the man who’d orchestrated the plot to infiltrate the Temple, the man who’d stolen Goshiki.

But Tendou was right about the Code.

As a Jedi, Ushijima was not permitted to kill a man who was unarmed and unwilling to fight.

He clenched his jaw as he retracted the blade, and the heat of his frustration must have shown through his face. Tendou grinned, and though he was the one who’d been defeated, he looked like a man who’d just earned a grand triumph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll start posting the second half of the story next week. It will be the conclusion, from Semi's POV.


End file.
